


Men and Monsters

by buh_bilove04



Series: Of Whims and Memories [1]
Category: Beowulf - All Media Types, Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, Hamlet - Shakespeare, Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Fleance/Ernest Frankenstein, M/M, Multi, Only a hint of Beowulf if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buh_bilove04/pseuds/buh_bilove04
Summary: Part 1 of ???. This all started as a simple question, "What ever happened to Ernest Frankenstein, Fleance, and Horatio after their respective works end?" This fic plans to answer that. Set in Oxford in late 1800s/early 1900s, Professor Horatio Eriksen has been corresponding with an odd man from Geneva, in hopes that he can get to the bottom of the monster that has been rumored to be lurking the countryside. But, little does he know, old memories cost old memories, and monsters aren't the only thing that will be haunting him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a joke for my AP Lit class, but it really took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The only reason Horatio had been able to endure the sound of pencils scratching on paper for the past two hours was his anticipation for what would come after class. He glanced at the clock to confirm, that, yes, he still had another hours to go. Sighing, he returned to the book he had been reading, hoping that the words of Mr. Wells’s newest work would distract him from the grueling pace time was taking. He had an important meeting after this and he had always prided himself on his punctuality. Unless, it was an appointment with the constable. 

Horatio smirked at that. After being a professor at Oxford for ten years, one would think that the local law enforcement would have given up on trying to pin the murder on him. Even King Fortinbras testified that Horatio had nothing to do with the late King Claudius's demise, and, His Majesty had show up as he was cradling the dying prince’s head in his lap. The smirk faded as he abruptly closed his book and stood from his desk. Some of his students gave him a curious look as he went over to the window to stare out on the dreary and dank campus. The Goliath of a window nearly went from the floor to the ceiling, and Horatio knew it was unwise to be standing in front of it, however, staring out of it had always helped him clear his head. He had learned that the hard way his first years as professor. The window had been open, as it was a gorgeous summer day, and a fellow faculty member saw him standing at the ledge. It threw the man into such a tizzy, that the local constable was summoned about a potential suicide jumper. The claim was absurd, as Horatio was merely sunning himself and enjoying one of the few fleeting moments of peace he could, yet the constable would heard none of it, and he nearly lost his visa because of the incident. The constable went as far to to spit in Horatio’s face that England didn’t care for suicidal regicider, especially broke Danes like himself. Horatio had considered filing a complaint, but decided against it, having neither the energy, time, or money to do so.

“Professor?”

Horatio turned around. “Yes?”

“You asked me to tell you when the clock hit five,” the young man began, “and, well, it’s five, sir.”

Startled, Horatio glanced at the clock, and to his surprise, it was indeed five. His last hour of eternity had passed.

“Thank you, Oscar.” Horatio responded, before moving back to his desk and ringing a small bell. The scratching ceased. 

“The exam has concluded. Place your test on my desk, and enjoy the rest of your day.”

As the scuffing of chairs on the floor replaced the obnoxious scratching, hushed conversations filled the room. An occasional thanks or well wish was thrown Horatio’s way as the students filed out until only Horatio and Oscar remained in the room. Horatio began to pack up his things as Oscar moved towards his desk.

“Professor, may I have a word?”

Horatio gave him a tight smile. “Of course, but make it quick.”

Taking a deep breathe, Oscar preceded. “Sir, I was wondering if, if possible, if I could potentially . . . head the research team.”

“And why do you think you’re qualified to do so?” Horatio inquired, doing his best to keep his composure upon noticing Oscar had gone bright red. 

“I’m one of the best students, and assistants, that you’ve ever had.” Oscar blurted out, before turning a darker shade.

Chuckling bittersweetly, Horatio ceased his packing and gave Oscar his full attention. “A bold statement, wouldn’t you say?” 

“It’s true! I’ve earned the highest marks on all of your tests. I arrive at the lab an hour early than everyone else, doubling checking the previous day’s data, and I leave an hour after you. I have read all of your published works and your sources. Sir, I’ve even helped you publish your most recent work. With all due respect-”

“Ingen.”

“Pardon?” 

Horatio gave Oscar a tight smile. “Ingen. No, I’m afraid I cannot make you head of the project. You know my rules.”

“But, sir!”

“Oscar,” Horatio began, placing a comforting hand on his pupil’s shoulder. “It is not a matter of your qualificatio-well. It is. You know I only allow doctors and fellow staff members to head my projects along with me-”

“I almost have my doctorate!” Oscar jerked back, glaring at Horatio. “Sir.”

“But, you don’t have it yet. I am truly sorry. You graduate with your doctorate this spring, why not talk to me after that? We can discuss your future over some-”

“Thank you, but no thank you.”

Horatio raised his eyebrows. “Osc-”

“I’ll take my leave.” Oscar began to storm out of the room before stopping at the door and throwing a disdainful “Sir” over his shoulder.

Rolling his eyes, Horatio began to gather his things once more. There was no denying that Oscar was intelligent and qualified for the position, however, something never sat right with Horatio about him. The young man always seemed too eager to please Horatio and follow Horatio’s every command. Horatio vaguely recalled a young lord with those very same traits back in Denmark. What was that fellow’s name again? It started with an O. Osiris? Oscrir? A chuckle spilled out. Maybe the young lord was named Oscar as well. 

A quick glance at the clock reminded Horatio that he was now running late. He madly dashed out of the room, ignoring the inquisitive stares staff and students threw him. There was no doubt this would be the talk of the campus tomorrow. 

Once in the pouring rain, Horatio managed to hail a cab almost immediately. Jumping in and spilling out the address he needed to go to, the driver looked at Horatio as if he were half-mad.

“The Wharf’s Wim? You want to go there?” The cabbie gestured to the dismal weather. “In this? I should charge you double for-”

“Done.” Horatio hastily agreed, well aware that meant he would be forfeiting dinner for the next few days. “Vær venlig, sir.”

The cabbie shifted in his seat, before grumbling in agreement. With a quick flit of his wrists, the horses spurned into action. It would still be a good twenty minutes before they reached the other side of town, leaving Horatio to do his best to straighten out his tie and his mind, remembering the journey it was that now lead him to being there.

Nine months ago, Horatio had overheard a student muttering to his friends about how some distant relation of his would disagree with Horatio’s teachings of biology. After promptly explaining to the young man it was rude to interrupt a professor during a lecture, he inquired as to what this distant relation would say.

“Well, a cousin of mine says that you can in fact bring the dead back to life, using electrical currents.” 

Excluding the young man, the room laughed collectively, causing the young man to turn bright red.

“It’s true! I swear! My cousin Victor did it!”

The entire room began to roar with laughter. Horatio himself indulged in the laughter. 

“And, I assume,” Horatio retorted with a smirk, “that your cousin also believes that you can created new beings via vivisection?” This sent most of the class into a riot. However, Horatio was close enough to hear the young man mutter an embarrassed, “Maybe.” 

Rolling his eyes, Horatio settled the class and began to explain how vivisection truly worked and how electrical currents actually affected cadavers. It had seemed like any other time Horatio had to disprove some sort of false belief his students had ingrained into their heads. He had nearly forgotten about it until a magistrate from Scotland had come to Oxford seeking advice a month later.

“Sirs, I simply cannot make any sense of it.” The frail and weathered man began to explain. “He eats, he drinks, he does everything a healthy man does, yet he is still ill. He refuses to raise from his bed, and he speaks nonsense to his nurses and to myself. His father has visited him on many occasions, and even he doesn’t have the faintest idea as to what is the source of his son’s ailment.” 

At that, the man presented Horatio’s small group with some papers. Some were of a doctor’s observations of the man, others of townspeople’s testimonies, even a few of the papers were official court documents, indicating the man of the murder of a local fisherman. What intrigued Horatio most of all were the ill man’s journal pages. It was obvious the man was well-educated, but all the man wrote was of a desire to be forgiven for the Devil he had created. Faintly, Horatio remembered the argument he had had with the young man a month ago. Something felt familiar about what the young man had said and what these pages boasted of.

“Sir,” Horatio began tentatively, looking up from the page he was read, “what is this man’s name?”

“Frankenstein.” The magistrate replied. “Victor Frankenstein.”

One of the horses whinnied loudly as Horatio felt the carriage jolt to a stop. He peered out the window to see the decrepitate tavern his research had lead him to. 

“There you are, sir.” The cabbie stated. “The Wharf's Wim. Before sunset, I may add.” He held his hand out expectantly. “I do believe that’s worth an extra pound or two, in addition to our original agreement.”

Cursing slightly under his breath, Horatio gave the man his due in addition to the tip. As he got out of the cab, the cabbie called to him.

“And, sir? If I were you, I wouldn’t stay around these parts for too long. Be a shame if you were to lose that nice case of yours.”

Horatio clutched his suitcase tighter as the cabbie cackled and speed off into the direction the had came. A few scantily clad women as painted as the sign boasting the tavern’s name surrounded the door. One of the younger ones attempted to sidle up to Horatio, taking his arm in her own before an older woman yanked her back with the rest of them. Horatio vaguely heard the older woman telling her to only do that to ones who will actually pay. He couldn’t tell if that was a jab at his second-hand suit, or-

“Horatio! Professor Horatio!”


	2. Men are Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting finally gets underway.

A jovial young man in well-tailored attire wove Horatio over to a table in one of the dank corners. Some other attendants rose their heads for a moment, but turned their attention back to their drinks upon realizing, quite disappointingly, that a brawl was not about to break out. As Horatio approached the corner, he noticed another young man in dark disheveled clothes sitting solemnly next to flaxen haired youth. The youth smiled more broadly as he met Horatio in front of the table, enthusiastically shaking his hand.

“Professor! Oh, it is such a pleasure to finally meet you.” The thick Scottish accent surprised Horatio, as he could have sworn the man was from Geneva. At least, he was from the letters he and Horatio corresponded with. The youth gestured to the empty seat across from him and his companion. “Please, sit, sir!”

The young man sat with Horatio following in suit. “You have no idea how excited I am to meet you: the famous Doctor Horatio Eriksen. The man who discovered the luminous mineral Klippe and its applications in lighting the average home. The man who helped make electricity more affordable to the average family. The man who was there,” the young man excitedly shook his scowling companion's shoulder, “and survived the Elsinore Massacre!” He turned his attention back to Horatio. “Oh sir, you have no idea how much of an honor it is-”

“That’s enough, Fleance,” the companion chided him. “I’m sure Läkare Eriksen would not like to be reminded of what happened.” Horatio was taken aback by the weary man’s accent. This was the man he had been corresponding with for the past few months? At a glance, Horatio had been unsure the man was even literate based on the cheap clothes the man wore.

As if sensing Horatio’s uneasiness, the questionable man gave Horatio a tight smile. “I know what you’re thinking sir.” He held out his hand, waiting for Horatio to shake it. “Yes, I am Ernest Frankenstein.”

Not wanting to be more rude than he already had been, Horatio quickly accepted the greeting and offered a tight smile of his own.

“Charmed.”

As their hands receded, Ernest gently patted his companion on the shoulder. “This is my acquaintance-”

“Friend.” The youth quickly corrected, causing Ernest to roll his eyes in good humor.

“-Friend, Fleance.”

That name seemed too familiar to Horatio, but he quickly suppressed the memory coming to surface. Now was not to time to reminisce with the past. Well, actually it was.

Sighing, Horatio quickly flagged down the bartender and deeply drank his beer. “Sir,” Horatio hesitated for a moment, before continuing, “Shall we begin?”

Ernest nodded, swiping Horatio’s drink from the table and taking a sip. Fleance gazed between the two men, confused.

“Begin what?”

Ernest chuckled. “A few months ago, Läkare Eriksen contacted me about . . .” He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, before clearing his throat. “About . . . Victor, and mentioned his interest in Victor’s . . . affairs.” Horatio gently nudged Ernest’s hand off of the glass before taking it to have another sip.

“As I stated in the letters, if you are uncomfortable talking about it-”

“I’m not.” Ernest stared down Horatio, causing Horatio to scoff as he took another sip. As if in retribution, Ernest yanked the drink from Horatio’s hand and slammed it in the center of the table.

Horatio raised an eyebrow and took out his handkerchief to clean up some of the beer that had spilled on his hand. The bartender was giving the group a stern look. Horatio nodded his head at him in an attempt to placate him. The bartender nodded back before continuing cleaning some glasses. “I understand if you are. We both acknowledge in the letters we would be bringing up things from the past that we both had wished to leave there. If you at any point wish to withdraw-”

“I won’t.”

Fleance placed a comforting arm on Ernest’s arm and fixed Horatio with an apprehensive look.

“What, ‘things?’”

Ernest sternly met Fleance's eyes. Whatever that looked conveyed caused Fleance to yank his hands back to his chest, as if Ernest has burned them.

“No.” Fleance objected venomously. “I swear to God, Ernest-”

“You have no-”

“No what? No say?” A wounded look overtook Fleance. “After all that we’ve-”

“I know.” Ernest said a bit too loudly, causing some nearby patrons to glance over at them. When the attention dissipated, Ernest took a deep breathe. “I know, however, he,”

Ernest gestured to Horatio, “isn’t like the others. He isn’t out to exploit me, or throw the Frankenstein name through the mud more so than Victor had. He is here for,” Ernest sighed deeply as he stared into the half-dranken draught, “for purely scientific purposes.” He chuckled darkly. “God, I swore I’d never have anything to do with the devil’s work, yet here I am.” Looking up, Ernest’s eyes bore into Horatio’s. “I’ll go first.” Ernest lifted the cup to his lips and drank deeply, not breaking eye contact with Horatio once, before setting the emptied glass to the side.

“As you know, Läkare Eriksen, I knew nothing of my brother’s . . . creation, until after his own demise. I had heard rumors about it . . .” Ernest pondered for a moment before shaking his head, “His heart beats as much as yours or mine, I may as well give him that much respect, even if the poor devil could give Grendel a run for his money.” A brief smile overtook Fleance’s face as he settled with his arm resting gently alongside Ernest’s as he leaned upon his other hand. Ernest playfully jostled his arm, before turning his attention back to Horatio.

“Well, I had merely dismissed them as that, rumors. It wasn’t until maybe a year after Victor’s funeral that I met him for myself. He had snuck into the soldiers’ barracks up in Munich, where I was stationed at the time to further my training.” Ernest’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he spoke. “I don’t believe I had ever felt true terror until that night. The wind howled as God’s wrath poured down on us from above. With the way the heavens seemed to break, I thought the day of Reckoning had come upon us. Especially when I saw him.”

Horatio noticed that Ernest had begun to sweat, he was half-tempted to force Ernest to stop when he caught Fleance’s gaze. A small nod and a tight smile alleviated some of Horatio’s uneasiness as Ernest continued on, this time with Fleance's hand holding his own.

“Even from afar I knew that he towered over me. Filled with unholy terror, I raced into the nearest building I could, finding out all too late it was the mess hall. I did my best to barricade the only set of doors that lead in and out of the building, yet I knew it was fruitless. All of my instincts screamed at me to hide in the kitchen. Arm myself with a knife and at least die like a man.”

Ernest took a shuddering breath. “Yet, as the barricade gave way and he walked in, I didn’t move. I couldn’t move, I was too terror stricken. But, there was something else there, something more sinister that forced me to stay where I was.” Ernest looked to the table in shame, “Curisority.”

Fleance squeezed Ernest’s hand as Ernest took a shaky breathe. Ernest turned slightly and gave Fleance a small smile. A shadow flickered on the wall next to their table, unnoticed by Horatio’s two companions, yet terrifying Horatio. Was that? No. I couldn’t have been. He’s dead and burned.

“Professor?” Horatio snapped to attention, startling his tablemates. Fleance tried once more, reaching his other hand across the table to squeeze Horatio’s clasped hands.

“Professor? Is everything alright?”

Horatio nodded and pulled one of his hands away only to put it on top of Fleance’s hand.

“I’m fine, thank you.” As Fleance pulled his hand away, Horatio gestured to Ernest to continue.

“I-I wanted to run, but knew it was useless.” Ernest admitted. “If half of the things I’ve heard about him were true, he would have stopped me before I would get far. Instead, I dumbly stood there as he calmly entered. We stared at each other for what felt like eons before he spoke.

‘So,’ he said, ‘You’re Ernest.’

I replied I was.

It laughed.

I laughed, not having the faintest idea why.

Our laughter fed into each other’s, and before I knew it, I was on the floor, crying as I laughed” Ernest chuckled a little. “The entire situation was absurd.” A frown overtook Ernest’s countenance. “I’m still not sure how either one of us came to sit at that table.”

“What table?” Horatio questioned.

“One of the cafeteria tables. I don’t recall when I stopped laughing and when we agreed to sit and talk. I merely remember sitting there, wondering what was going on as we stared at one another. It was then that he placed a large travel case on the table, claiming both my father’s and brother’s life works were in it. I refused to believe it at first, as both Victor and my father had libraries dedicated to their . . . professions.” Ernest shifted in his seat. “He proved me wrong, and that’s all that matters.”

Horatio shook his head.“But how? You said in the letters that it-he, swore to destroy all that Victor loved, and his research was one of those things. And even a large case can barely contain one man’s life’s works, let alone two men’s. How did you know he was telling the truth?”

“Simple. He showed me Victor’s journals and had my father’s most prized illustration of the human body.” Ernest straightened up a bit. “He drew it himself, you know. It is printed in all of the latest medical textbooks. One of the most detailed and accurate pictures in decades. Victor’s journals, however,” Ernest continued, unconsciously slouching down, “well, I verified them. It wasn’t that hard, I’ve seen his handwriting my entire life.”

“Yes,” Horatio interjected once more, “But how did you know it was either man’s entire collection?”

Ernest huffed. “I didn’t, alright? I simple took his word for it based on what he showed me. Unlike my brother, I know when a man is a man of his word.”

Horatio rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, signally the bartender for another drink. Turning his attention back to Ernest, he muttered, “Continue on.”

Ernest opened his mouth to say something, but Fleance squeezed his hand, causing Ernest to flinch a bit. He turned to glare at Fleance, only to be met with a stern look that shut him up immediately. Resigned, he began speaking once more to Horatio as Horatio’s drink arrived.

“After showing me what he had to show, he offered me a deal.” Grabbing the drink Horatio still had yet to claim, Ernest took a long gulp, before lowering his voice as he held the glass close.

“He,” Ernest sighed, “he asked me to . . . to kill him.”

Both men stared at Ernest in shock. Fleance’s free hand began to pat Ernest’s arm gently, though Ernest retracted his arm altogether, growling at a wounded Fleance.

“Don’t give me that look. You’ve heard this story before, so don’t you dare give me that look.” He proceed to scowl at Horatio. “And you, I swear to God, if you don’t wipe that pitying look off your face, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Horatio challenged. This wasn’t the first time some thick-skulled youth threatened him, and it wouldn’t be the last. Maybe that summer in London with Hamlet hadn’t been such a bad trip after all, great practice for times like this.

As expected, Ernest, still growling, backed down. It took everything within Horatio not to roll his eyes or steal the drink back, as it seemed to be doing its purpose.

“I’m assuming by your tone that you agreed to-”

“Of course I did, I’m a soldier. A little blood-.”

“Why?”

Ernest was taken aback. He simply stared at Horatio.

“Why did you kill him? You said you could care less about your brother’s work, and if you truly cared about your father’s work that much, you could have offered him money, you did inherit a large fortune, didn’t you? But no, you decided to kill him, to take the terms given to you. Why?”

Silence was his response. Ernest’s eyes moved between Horatio’s and the door. His voice lowered as he explained himself, “Look, if you had been there, and heard the story he had told, you would have done the same thing.” He met Horatio’s eyes and bore into them. “Trust me.”

And with that, Ernest took a long swig of the drink. Fleance looked on in concern, though stayed as he was. When Ernest finished, he nonchalantly waved his hand.

“Now, I do believe it is time for you to uphold your end of the deal.”

Fleance looked at Horatio. “Professor, what is he talking about?”

“The deal,” Horatio began, “Was that Mr. Frankenstein would tell me about his encounter with . . . him, and in return I’d share a story of my own.”

“But, why?”

“For, ‘scientific inquest.’ Wasn’t that what you wrote in the letters? He was curious on if any of this was true and if I wouldn’t mind lending him some of Victor’s works. I promised the truth and the journals if only he tell me about Denmark’s Fördömd kung.” Ernest said victoriously.

Fleance gave Ernest a questioningly look, causing the dark haired man to chuckle and elaborate. “Pardon, ‘damned king.’ That was what we called it when we were at a Danish armory. “

“Called what?”

“The Ghost of King Hamlet.”

“But, I thought the late Prince Hamlet never lived to be king.”

Ernest shook his head and attempted to explain. “No, you see-”

“He didn’t.” Horatio bitterly interjected. “He died before he had the chance. The ghost those forrædere told him was of Hamlet’s father, Old King Hamlet.”

“I personally could care less about the family tree,” Ernest whined. “I just want to hear your truth, much as you wanted to hear mine.”

Horatio glared at the brash man. “Fine. The truth of the matter is: there was a ghost, and now there isn’t. Happy?

Shaking his head, the soldier gently tutted Horatio. “No, no, no. I got that part already. But what happened in the library?

“The library?” questioned Fleance as the other men continued their staring contest. Ernest smiled wickedly.

“Yes, Professor. What happened in the library before Prince Hamlet’s death? The night you refused to talk about in our correspondence.”

“I already-”

“Don’t try that with me. We both know you never fully explained what happened, other than you were visited by the ghost twice in your life. Once during the night watch, and in that library. Now, if you truly want these journals for that abominable research of yours,” Ernest jostled a large travelling case near his leg that Horatio had not noticed till then. “I need my story.”

Finally, Horatio dropped his gaze, knowing he was defeated. Silence occupied the three men, before Horatio waved it aside.

“Bøde, bøde.” He motioned for Ernest to pass him the drink, which Ernest was only more than happy to do. After a swig, Horatio began. “It was late. I was in the library finishing up some research I had been doing about English law, when Prince Hamlet came rushing in. His flesh finally reflected the madness within. He grabbed me by my arms and shook me violently.

‘Do you see him?’ He kept repeating, pointing off to some corner here or there each time.

I tried to pull away, but whatever madness had come upon him had made him stronger than Heracles himself. He eventually fell silent, staring into my eyes as he continued to mutter strange musings to himself. He kept saying how sweet of a boy I was and how loyal I was. However, every now and again, he’d say-” Was that? No. Horatio’s nerves were merely getting the best of him. He had only seen a trick of the lights the first time, and that was all it was now. He shook his head and continued on, much to the confusion of his companions.

“He’d mention that he would save my soul from the daemon that claimed his. Obviously, this was disturbing to me. I continued to plead with him to release me and tell me what was going on, but he refused. If anything, I swear his grip became stronger. That is, until, he noticed something just beyond my head. I attempted to turn to see what it was, but his hands violently shot out and grabbed my head, forcing me to look only at him as he screamed obscenities at whatever it was.” Had the room become colder-of course it did.  
The main fire in the fireplace had been extinguished. But why?

“The back of my neck suddenly felt as though a chilling breeze was blowing through the study . . . yet . . . I can’t quite explain it. I swear that it felt as if someone, or something, was breathing down my neck. The room then began to sway, and I felt as if my pounding head had suddenly lost all weight to it. I collapsed.”

Horatio had expected Ernest to snicker at that, but his expression was as somber as Fleance’s was concerned. As Horatio took another sip, Ernest seemed to return to normal.

“That’s it?” Ernest asked. “I mean, if a fellow did that to me, I would been terrified at first too, before socking him. But, where’s the ghost? Are you telling me I came all the way out to the middle of England, and I was initially in Geneva, may I remind you, to hear that a ghost breathed at you and you fainted?”

“Well,” Horatio sighed, “That’s not all.”

Fleance nodded, eager for him to continue as he grabbed Ernest’s arm in a hug. Ernest shook his head before settling down.

“As I fell to the floor, I felt as though I was still falling. As though I was going straight to Hell itself. Before my eyes shut, I-” Horatio took a deep breathe, “I saw the decaying form of Old King Hamlet, nearly overlapping with the form of his son. That face still haunts my dreams till this day, but only because I did not heed the warning.”

Fleance’s eyes were the size of saucers as he whispered, “What warning?” Horatio and Ernest’s eyes met.

“Prince Hamlet died the next day, didn’t he?” Ernest answered for him. Horatio nodded his head.

Horatio stared at the table, not sure he would be able to keep up his calm facade if he had to look either man in the eye. He nearly jumped out of his seat when Fleance gently laid his hand over Horatio’s. Finally looking up, Fleance gave Horatio a reassuring smile.

The doors to the tavern slammed open. All three men rose to their feet, astonished that they were the only ones in the building, save for the new arrivals and bartender.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ernest demanded.

A constable stepped forward as a few more entered the building. Another man slipped in as well, though Horatio could not properly identify who it was in such dim lighting.

“Eriksen. Horatio Eriksen.” One of the constables called out. Hesitantly, Horatio stepped forward, opening his mouth to ask what was going on. He was stopped when two other constables knocked him to the ground and put him in cuffs.

“Stop this! Stop!” Horatio thought he heard Fleance cry, though the ringing in his ears made it hard to tell what was being said. Some warm liquid caressed Horatio’s face as it fell to the floor, confirming Horatio’s suspicion that he had hit his head off of the table as the constables tackled him.

More muffled yelling and obscenities followed as Ernest and Fleance followed the group out of the tavern, demanding to know what the meaning of all of this was. As Horatio was loaded into the back of a tiny carriage, he heard one of the constable explaining what was going on to his companions.

“Professor Horatio Eriksen has been charged with the corruption of youth and attempted suicide. Please, remain calm. His court date will be announced short-no, there will be no bail post-sir, plea-I don’t care if he know King Fortinbras. A crime is a crime!”

As the constables readied to shut the carriage door, the mysterious man stepped from the shadows and waved.

For as long as Horatio lived, another face haunted his dreams along with his Prince’s: that, of Oscar’s demented smile as the doors to his freedom shut.


End file.
